


All My Rowdy Friends

by Anonymous



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Murderdolls (Band), Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Daddy Kink, Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Thumb-sucking, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26092834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: ‘Dude—’ Joey says, feeling his face flood with a prickly blush as he laughs.This is how it had started. Kind recognising its kind. Manson would flirt; pout his lips and swing his narrow hips — talk dirty. And, instead of bristling or freezing like most of the guys Joey had seen him pull this move on, Joey would just laugh and tell him to fuck off.During a surreptitious smoke break on set, Joey doesn’t expect to get cornered by Manson. Neither did he expect how much their game of Chicken is about to escalate.Set early 2002.
Relationships: Joey Jordison/Marilyn Manson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: Fanfic Anonymous





	All My Rowdy Friends

Joey glances around, he’s bored and itching for a cigarette. He’s not really sure what’s happening now but he’s fairly certain they’re done with him. He can’t see any of the other guys from the band, and Manson’s nowhere to be seen. There seems to be a lot of people, but they all look very busy and no one's looking in his direction. He pushes up his mask, scratching his nose. 

He’s hot. He’s really not sure if it’s the mask or the champagne that keeps reappearing in his glass. And honestly he’d prefer whiskey, but he’d take anything if he’s going to be sitting around all evening.

And it is _really_ sitting around. He hasn't got to do anything, but sit and look pretty as Manson had said earlier when he’d dropped onto the couch next to him, squeezing his thigh like Joey’s his date. He’d laughed, ignoring the skip in his pulse. 

_Ozzfest_ had been a couple of months ago (and there’d been a lot of shit between then and now) and he’d kind of forgotten quite how _much_ Manson could be. Pursing his over-painted lips, and sneering into the camera. He’d forgotten, too, how it felt to have the million-watt spotlight of Manson’s attention shining on him. Searing, and physical, and all-consuming, until it wasn’t. Joey wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not. 

Joey glances around the room again, wondering if anyone’s going to notice if he slips off for a smoke. Deciding he doesn’t give a fuck if they do, he dumps the mask and trots outside. He gets a shock as it’s dark already and he hadn’t realised. There’s more people hanging around the pool but Joey isn’t feeling awfully social so he walks around the side of what must be the pool house, flicking his lighter. He sets his back against the wall, taking a drag. _Sweet nicotine_. 

‘Mr Jordison, I’ve been expecting you—’ comes a deep voice from behind him and Joey jumps with a yelp, dropping his cigarette. He whips around to find Manson cracking up at his own impression of a goth Blofeld. He’s wearing a robe and sitting in a lawn chair, with his legs crossed and a magazine in his lap. Weirdly, he looks exactly how Joey imagines his mom looks waiting for a blowout at the salon. 

Although when Manson grins at him, Joey can see his upper row of teeth is all mental. 

‘Fuck, man,’ Joey grunts, laughing and shaking his head as he picks up his cigarette. His heart’s going doubletime, though that’s not entirely from the shock. 

‘You’re just going to smoke that?’ Manson snorts. 

‘Three second rule, dude,’ Joey says with a grin at Manson, who rolls mismatched eyes. They lapse into silence as Joey smokes his cigarette, stealing surreptitious glances at the other, while Manson returns to his magazine. When Joey finishes his smoke and flicks the butt over the fence, Manson speaks:

‘I listened to the demo,’ he says, eyes still on the page and Joey suddenly realises he’s reading in the dark. Maybe the rumours are true. 

‘Yeah?’ Joey says, hesitant. The demo’s still pretty raw, and Joey’s a bit leery of feedback (he hadn’t been planning on caring this much) but — _Christ_ — he’d be dumber than rocks not to listen to the opinion of _Marilyn_ fucking _Manson_. 

‘I liked it— a little kitsch,’ he says, tongue clicking pleasingly on the _sch_. It softens the blow and Joey snorts, taking out another cigarette. 

‘That’s all?’ he asks, eyeing the other as he takes a drag. 

‘I liked the one about fucking,’ Manson adds after a moment’s thought and Joey laughs. He relaxes more, hugging his elbows, letting his shoulders press against the wall of the pool house. He’s relieved. More relieved than he expected. Manson’s watching him, like he’s waiting for him to say something else.

More like a viper waiting to see if their meal is going to need another bite, Joey thinks. The tips of his fingers are tingling. He knows it’s not the blunted rush from the nicotine. 

He takes another drag of his cigarette and looks back. 

‘Let’s see the teeth then,’ Joey says, hooking his thumb behind his incisors to indicate the grill. Manson shrugs, smirking, as he opens his mouth wide and Joey moves closer, wondering who's biting. Joey lets his thumb run along his top row of teeth feeling the metal curiously. 

He likes Manson’s mouth. Likes watching him sing or talk, lick his full lips or drink, lipstick printed on the glass. 

‘I could probably fit my whole hand in,’ Joey mutters, thinking about Manson’s metal teeth closing over his wrist. He takes his hand away. Manson watches him, tongue tracing over his upper lip. Joey stares, not sure if it’s gross or the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

‘You wanna sit on Daddy’s lap and try?’ Manson murmurs, voice low and amused. 

‘ _Dude_ —’ Joey says, feeling his face flood with a prickly blush as he laughs. 

This is how it had started. Kind recognising its kind. Manson would flirt; pout his lips and swing his narrow hips — talk dirty. And, instead of bristling or freezing like most of the guys Joey had seen him pull this move on, Joey would just laugh and tell him to fuck off. 

He _had_ kissed him once, which he guesses is none of the above. He’d done it because, at the time, it was really fucking funny. And because, at the time, he could. 

Joey had been falling over drunk, still in his stage stuff, spilling into Manson’s lap at one of the blur of afterparties. He’d fumbled for his mouth before pressing their lips together in a sticky kiss. Smudging his lipstick between them as Manson had laughed at him, tugging on his hair. The kiss had ended when Shawn had pulled up him by the back of his boilersuit and barked at him to go to fucking bed. 

‘C’mon, dollface,’ Manson says, smirking as he uncrosses his legs to stand, and Joey’s snapped abruptly to the present. ‘Don’t you wanna show Daddy what a good boy you can be?’ 

‘No fucking way,’ Joey says, snorting out smoke, ‘—and you can cut the _daddy_ shit, you aint giving me a hard on, dude.’ But Joey still backs up to the wall of the pool house as he approaches. 

‘You sure about that?’ Manson asks, stepping up to him properly now, so close Joey’s shoulder blades are pressed flat against the wall and there’s barely a inch of space between them. 

He smirks as Manson snags his cigarette and takes a drag. He exhales, smoke caressing his lips. Joey bites his tongue and forces his expression to remain neutral. He knows Manson’s just trying to get him to tap out, but Joey’s not about to let someone fuck with him without fucking with them right back. 

‘Check for yourself,’ Joey says with a careless shrug, taking his cigarette back. The _I dare you_ goes unsaid. He thinks maybe Manson’s eyelashes flicker but it’s dark and he’s so much taller his face is not really at the right angle for Joey to see. 

Then there’s a hand groping between his thighs and a mouth over his mouth swallowing his gasp. Manson’s other hand spreads across his chest, keeping him against the wall. Joey grunts, fingers clamping over his wrist. All Joey can taste is metal and he wonders if Manson can feel his heart rebounding against his ribcage. 

‘Liar,’ Manson says against his lips and Joey can feel him tracing his cock through his clothes. Joey can feel his blood flowing into all the places he’s touching. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Joey gasps again and feels Manson slide his tongue into his mouth. Joey drops the cigarette. Manson squeezes him and it _hurts_. And it feels so fucking good. Joey tastes metal again as Manson slips his tongue deeper. Joey moans into his mouth. 

‘You gonna be a good boy for me?’ Manson murmurs, pulling back to speak against his cheek. Joey pants, shocked and sensitive. Manson’s hand is still on him, stroking him easily through the fabric of his clothes. Joey can’t seem to get his mouth to work as his neurons start firing randomly, all his body parts losing sensation until the throbbing in his cock is the only pinpoint in his consciousness.

‘Yeah,’ he mumbles at last, swallowing, trying to get his shit back together enough to speak. 

‘Hm?’ Manson murmurs, tightening his hand and making Joey’s eyes roll back in his head. Fu _ck_.

‘Da- _daddy_ ,’ he grits out, his cock pounding in Manson’s grip. 

‘Good boy,’ Manson says, voice warm and liquid in Joey’s ear. He’s never spoken to Joey like that before and it makes heat twist through his gut. Manson replaces his hand with his thigh, hitching Joey’s hips up so nearly off his feet — the pressure on his cock is now almost unbearable. Joey bites his lip to keep a groan in, feeling Manson’s hand on his hip. 

‘C’mon, doll, show me how good you can be,’ he says, mouth on Joey’s hair. At first Joey can’t understand him but Manson squeezes his hip a little and he pushes up into his touch on instinct. Manson hums, pleased, when Joey starts to rut with his hips. 

Joey can feel a flush burning high in his cheeks, a sour kind of humiliation heavy in his gut. But it’s not enough to get him to stop. Nothing would be. It’s like a wildfire spreading beneath his skin, catching and igniting. Burning away his self-control, overwhelming his senses with the acrid smell of dry-ice on Manson’s skin. 

And now he’s going to fuck himself raw on Manson’s thigh. 

‘Fuck,’ he grunts out and Manson laughs, low and wicked. Joey rocks his hips, cock dragging up and down Manson’s thigh. Manson’s got a hand fisted in his hair, head bent to force his tongue back into Joey’s mouth. Joey kisses him back as roughly, all tongue and teeth. Manson’s other hand is still spread across Joey’s chest, keeping him pinned back against the wall. Joey’s hands are hooked in the lapels of his robe, pulling him down to his mouth as he fucks up into him with his hips. 

He can feel Manson’s cock burning, hot and insistent, rubbing through his clothes against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Joey’s sweating, prickling across his chest and the base on his spine. The friction of the fabric and the pressure Manson’s putting on his cock isn’t helping. His gut is twisted up tight with heat and it’s twisting tighter and tighter with every shuddering thrust of his hips. Joey pulls back to gasp.

Manson catches his chin, wetting his lips. Joey grunts, panting, but Manson won’t let him pull away from his grasp. 

‘You’re pretty fucking good at this,’ he murmurs into Joey’s ear. Joey can’t quite prevent his hips twitching up at the words. If Manson calls him a slut now he’s going to fucking lose it. ‘—must get a lot of practice, doll. I wonder if you’re this good at sucking dick.’ 

‘Fuck off,’ Joey slurs as Manson hooks a thumb in his mouth. 

‘C’mon, dollface, you know what to do,’ he says, pressing his thumb down on Joey’s tongue. Joey mumbles but opens his mouth a little more, letting Manson’s thumb slide deeper into his mouth, and sucking at it as he flicks his eyes up. Manson is watching him. Joey looks back, feeling the muscles in his stomach drawing taught. 

It only takes another couple of clumsy thrusts on his hips before he feels the orgasm ripping through his gut. Joey grunts as he comes, back arching off the wall as his nails dig into Manson’s chest. Manson growls, pressing into him harder until the pressure on his newly sensitive cock is almost unbearable. Joey groans Manson let his thumb slip out of his mouth but his hand is still tight around Joey’s jaw. Then he’s mouthing his neck, under his hair, kissing and licking and biting. Joey squirms, overheated and uncomfortable, crammed between Manson’s body and the wall. 

Manson’s hand clamps tight on his thigh and he’s pressing into Joey so hard he can’t draw a full breath. Joey’s pushes against him squirming and Manson steps back unexpectedly leaving him stumbling in his sneakers.

Manson doesn’t speak, regarding him, the pool lights reflecting in his eyes; in the darkness they look completely black. 

Joey sinks down the wall still panting, skin creeping at the sudden chill, mourning the loss of Manson’s oppressive body heat. Even in the low light, Joey knows he must look a mess; lipstick and saliva smeared over his mouth, hair stuck to his face with sweat and the pervasive smell of cigarettes and sex on his skin. He can feel himself sticking to his underwear. Manson snorts at him.

‘You gonna live?’ he asks, clearly amused that Joey’s flopped out at his feet. Joey nods, letting his head rest back against the wall, feeling limp and loose-limbed. 

‘Take a breather, doll,’ Manson says, straightening his robe but not bothering to wipe the lipstick around his mouth. ‘—I’d better be getting back.’

Joey touches his own mouth, feeling the greasiness of the lipstick too, and wondering if the dark red is going to stain his skin. He lowers his hand, watching as Manson pads, barefooted, around the pool house and out of sight. 

Joey takes breath, considering another cigarette, before forcing himself unsteadily to his feet.


End file.
